


Misstep

by Dash



Series: Steps [2]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Discipline, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Spanking, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-02
Updated: 2011-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-14 08:19:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dash/pseuds/Dash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short bridge and Part 3 of the Steps Series.   Neal, Peter and Elizabeth continue to work through the aftermath of Kate’s death and Neal’s return to work.  Please be aware that this story does contain non-sexual discipline spanking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misstep

This is part 3 in my “Steps” series of White Collar Fanfiction. It will make no sense if you don’t read Pts 1 and 2 first.

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Misstep  
By Dash

 

“So you really have moved on.”

He jerked at the sound of her voice and shook his head. “No,” he whispered, looking at her standing by his bed. “I haven’t.”

“You’ve forgotten about me, you don’t care any more.”

“Kate, that’s not true,” Neal protested, hating the pathetic sound of his voice. “Moz is doing all the research already. He’s been working on it for weeks now. I’ll help as soon as I can.”

“So Moz is doing everything,” she shot back, “while you get to play dress up and perform like a circus animal. Maybe I should have been fucking him instead.” Kate sighed and shook her head, reaching out to touch him. “You were always the pretty one, though, and I can’t resist this face.”

He pulled back, afraid of what would happen, and he saw her gloat at his movement, his fear.

“We need to get you a nice pretty ruffle to wear around your neck or maybe a hat with bells.” Ignoring his movement, she gently caressed his face, her touch a stark contrast to her words. “Want to make sure you look pretty for your keepers.”

Unable to resist the feel of her, he turned into her hand and tried to ignore the words. It has been so long and it was exactly how he remembered. The slightly rough area on the side of her thumb from a bad burn years earlier and the way her hand fit perfectly, curving to cradle his face without being too big or too small. “Kate … please.” He breathed in and almost choked on the smell of smoke and burning.

“Please what, Neal?” she shot back, tightening her grip on his face and holding him tight as her voice hardened. “I had it all set up for us, all you had to do was follow the instructions. For once in your miserable life, you just had to follow the rules, do what you were told and everything would have been fine.”

Trying to shake free, he started to cough as her hand tightened on his face.

“Just once, Neal, but that was too much to ask for and I’m the one who is paying the price,” she yelled at him as the flames began to flare up again and surround the bed.

Jerking free, he pushed himself back and closed his eyes as he coughed, trying to block out her screams as part of his brain acknowledged that it was just a dream. Bumping his head hard on the headboard, he jerked, blinking and coughing in the dark bedroom as her words and cries died away. The smell of smoke still filled his nose and throat as he gulped water trying unsuccessfully to wash it away. Feeling his stomach lurch, he stumbled out of bed.

 

Peter rubbed his friend’s back but remained silent.

Bent over the sink, Neal rested his head on his folded arms. “Sorry,” he muttered, turning on the water and rinsing out his mouth again. “Some thanks for bringing me back to work,” he said, trying to sound light and casual.

The other man laughed, holding out a towel. “You didn’t wake us up screaming at least.”

Neal shot him a look. “I don’t know that throwing up is a better sound.”

Shrugging, Peter studied him for a moment. “You don’t have to do this, Neal. There’s no rush at all.”

“Yeah there is,” he said in a quiet but steady voice. Turning back to the mirror, he studied his face. “I just have to do this. Today, tomorrow, can’t put it off forever.” He smiled at Peter’s reflection over his shoulder. “Just got to get back on the horse.”

The other man nodded slowly, knowing that his partner was right.

“Neal, sweetie,” Elizabeth said, knocking on the door frame of the bathroom, “I made some tea for you. It’s in your bedroom.”

Turning from the sink, he smiled and nodded at her. “Thanks. I’m sorry for waking you up.”

She waved off the apology. “I was having a stupid dream anyway – Peter was dressed in a bunny outfit for some reason and we were arguing about which tie matched white the best.”

Neal grinned at the image, unsure if she was lying or not and not really caring – just appreciating the thought. “That’s a tough one and white before Memorial Day … I don’t know.” Turning to his partner, he shook his head slowly. “Even for you Peter, I think that might be pushing it.”

“Hey – it was El’s dream, not mine,” the other man countered with a laugh.

 

“You’ve told him that he can stay, right?” Elizabeth asked thirty minutes later as she rolled over and snuggled against her husband as he slipped back into bed.

“Yes, several times,” Peter confirmed, willing himself not to look at the clock to see how little time he probably had until the alarm went off. Out of the corner of his eye he saw 1:47 so not as bad as he feared. If he fell asleep right now, he’d have a good four hours of sleep before the alarm went off and Day Number Two of Neal Back At Work began for both of them. The younger man wasn’t officially back, but with the bank robbery case and Neal’s unique talents being called for, he was being called in.

She kissed his shoulder and nodded. “Good.”

“He wants to go back to his apartment, El,” he said quietly.

“Wants to or feels like he should?”

Peter sighed and shrugged in the darkness. “I don’t know, but I don’t think it matters right now. He knows he can stay, he knows the door is always open, but like he told me tonight, he just has to do it.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “You need to talk to him, Peter.”

Biting his tongue, not wanting to take out his frustrations on her, he said a moment later, “And what would you like me to say?” His tone was more sarcastic than he had hoped for but it was late … or early, depending on how you looked at it, he was tired and as frustrated as she was – just more willing to accept the situation. He could feel her looking at him, but remained silent.

“I don’t know,” she admitted after a moment. “But he’s not a hundred percent yet – tonight proves that – and the idea of him being on his own, alone, worries me.”

He chuckled, “I know, but we just have to see.” He kissed her hair, adding, “I’ll talk to him tomorrow night.”

“Good.”

But he didn’t. He meant to – he meant to reiterate what he had told the younger man several times, but the timing was never right and he couldn’t work out in his head what to say that hadn’t already been said, without it sounding like he didn’t trust Neal. They had an arrangement, they had a relationship that went well beyond work and if was to work, he needed to trust that the groundwork, the foundation already laid, would hold strong.

 

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Watching with equal parts pride and fear, Peter smiled as Neal proudly turned the suitcase around to the gathered bank employees and outlined with easy casualness how he had managed to walk away with $500,000 from one of their banks. His mind instantly flashed back to the conversation two weeks after the plane explosion when Moz had informed him that Neal was ready to leave prison, with or without Peter’s help. He forced himself back to the present and his mind onto the job as Neal wrapped up his presentation and not on how badly things could have gone.

“Hey Peter,” Neal said two hours later as he stuck his head into the glass office. “I’ll be back in a bit, HR is calling and has forms for me to fill out.”

The other man made a face, “More? How have they not run out trees yet? This is taking more paperwork than the first time.”

Neal shrugged, “I just do as I’m told.” Then he smiled seeing the expression on Peter’s face. “Sometimes.”

“Rarely.”

“It’s my first day back so I’m trying.”

Waving him away, Peter nodded, “Go, fill out forms. I’m going to just enjoy it while it lasts.” Watching him stroll out of the office, he took a deep breath and then pulled out his private phone. “We need to talk,” he said as Moz picked up the line.

“Problems?”

“No, but he’s back at work and it’s a bit rough. He’s going back to June’s tonight and I want to make sure we’re both on the same page,” he said.

Moz paused, “Inasmuch as we both care about him and want to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, we’re on the same page.”

Biting back a frustrated reply, he simply said, “Exactly. Usual place?”

“I’ll be there in 30 minutes, Suit.”

“Can’t wait.”

 

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A week later, Peter glanced at Neal as they waited for the elevator. “Want to come over? Elizabeth is out of town – we can celebrate nailing Walker.”

“I can’t,” Neal said too quickly. “I’ve got plans already.” Flashing Peter a smile he added, “Maybe this weekend, OK?”

Peter nodded absently as he studied the other man and pondered his next move. He could feel the walls going back up around his partner, feel him pulling back and he wondered how much he could push. As they got into the car, he said firmly, “Coming over this weekend would be good, Neal. You look like you could do with a good meal and maybe a good night’s sleep.” Then he added in a more gentle tone, “We’ve missed having you around.”

Neal glanced at him. “Really?” He flushed, hating the tone of his voice and quickly added with a smile, “I would have thought you’d be glad to have the house back to yourselves.”

Deciding to ignore the last part of the comment that was just for show, he nodded. “Of course we miss you.” He reached over and shook the other man’s shoulder gently before starting the car. “You’re as much a part of the family as Satchmo.”

Neal laughed and slowly shook his head. “I’m guessing that’s your version of a compliment.”

“How are you doing though?” Peter asked a few minutes later as the car stopped at a red light. “You do look like you could use a good night’s sleep.” He glanced over at the younger man who had turned to stare out the window. “Nightmares still?”

“I’m fine, no problems,” Neal said, his eyes firmly out the window. Then added, quietly, “I had another nightmare last night but that’s the first in awhile.”

Silently wondering what awhile meant in Neal’s mind, Peter nodded. “Is this the first one since you’ve been back at June’s?”

Next to him, Neal sighed. “I don’t know, Peter.” Then added several long moments later, “No but I’m trying, OK?” The frustration was clear in his voice and his shoulders were stiff.

“Hey,” he said quietly, glancing at him again. “No one is blaming you. Having a nightmare isn’t anything childish or any sort of failing on your part.”

Neal nodded but remained silent, clearly not interested in talking about it.

“So what are you doing tonight that’s more exciting than hanging out with me,” he asked after a few minutes.

The other man laughed, “I’m not sure if I’d say that, but June is hosting a bridge party and I know how to play, so I can sit in if need be.”

Peter laughed. “Wow that just sounds so much more exciting than take out Chinese and a game.”

He shrugged. “We all have to earn our keep and I don’t mind.”

 

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Moz quietly opened the apartment door and peered inside. It was only a little after nine and Neal was home according to June, but not answering his phone. If his friend had simply gone to bed early, he didn’t want to be responsible for waking him up, but he couldn’t push the concern out of his mind. He had slept over three times in the past week, if you defined sleep as tossing and turning on a couch while Neal alternated between standing outside staring blindly across the cityscape, sitting at the table going through files or staring at the flickering tv and drinking well into the night. They had gotten into an argument two nights before when he had insisted on taking back the files about the explosion.

“It’s not healthy,” he said, gathering them up and holding them to his chest. Glancing at the half bottle of scotch sitting on the table, he added, “Neither is that, but it’s your choice.”

“I don’t need this now, Moz. If you’re not going to help me, you can go,” Neal said ten minutes later, the fight winding down. His shoulders slumped and he stared into his glass. Reaching out with one hand, he played with the edge of his yellow notebook. “I don’t even know what to say any more to make things make sense, make things right. I try to write it out and it’s just not right.”

“There’s nothing to make right,” Moz said softly.

“No,” he said in a flat tone.

Putting the files out of easy reach on the kitchen counter, Moz slowly walked back over to the younger man. Resting his hand on his back gently, he said, “Do you want me to come back after I put these away?”

Neal shook his head. “Just go.”

Moz hesitated, trying to decide what to say next. He had seen the other man in this state only three other times, twice after jobs had gone spectacularly bad and once after a close friend had been shot by the BGS trying to escape into France with several pieces of art. Each time, the spiral of self-recrimination and despair had only lasted a few days, breaking on its own as Neal buried the hurt, allowed it to scab over and forced himself to move on. That had seemed to have happened over the last few months as well while living with the Burkes, but in the last two weeks, the younger man seemed to be slipping back into the dark places of his mind and finding it harder to claw his way out. “I’ll come back,” he said firmly, “so don’t lock the door. Pick out a good movie to watch and make some popcorn.”

“Don’t bother,” he said, straightening up, “I’m going to bed.”

The other man snorted, causing Neal to glance up and glare, the quiet despair being replaced by a sudden flush of anger. Moz held up his hands. “Fine, I think that’s an excellent idea.” Watching as the younger man poured another large splash into the glass, he touched his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Get some sleep, mon frère. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Not looking up, Neal shook his head. “Go away, Moz. I need some space. Take your files and your opinions on how best to deal with me. I’ll call you later.” Standing up suddenly, he picked up the bottle and walked out onto the patio, not looking back.

Silently watching for a long second, Moz shook his head and picked up the files again before walking out. Out on the street, he glanced up toward the roof terrace and couldn’t decide if he actually saw a figure standing there or not. Now, two days later with no word from Neal, he was quietly making his way back in. The younger man had always been a light sleeper so he was surprised when he actually made it inside without hearing anything. The small kitchen light over the sink was on but the rest of the apartment was dark. A quick glance at the bed confirmed that it was empty.

“Go away, Moz,” a slurred voice said from the darkness as the other man pushed open the glass terrace doors.

Peering into the darkness, he saw a figure sitting on the cold stone floor, back against the wall. “Hey man,” he said quietly, coming closer and seeing the empty bottle of vodka sitting next to him.

“Go away,” Neal repeated.

Moz looked down at him and shook his head. “You should know by now that you can’t command me, Neal. Never could, never will.”

Neal looked up at him and blinked owlishly for a moment. “You’re not a good circus animal like me. No wonder you don’t wear a pretty gray blinking ruff.”

“Uh huh,” he said, squatting down and holding out his hand. “Come on, it’s getting chilly and I’m sure you don’t want to explain to the Suit that you got sick sitting out in the cold drunk as a lord.”

Not seeming to hear him, Neal looked down at his ankle. “Can it be a ruff if it’s on your ankle? Does a ruff have to be around your neck?” Holding out his hand at the other man’s impatient gesture, he studied his tracker.

“I don’t know,” Moz said honestly, standing up and tugging the other man up with him. “I’m sure the Suit wouldn’t mind a collar and leash for you at times, but maybe that’s too kinky for the Feds.”

Neal started to laugh as he stood up, doubling over slightly as Moz led him inside. The chuckles turned into heartier laughter which quickly took on a slightly manic edge as tears started streaming down his face. Sinking down in one of the dining area chairs, he curled up, holding on to his knees as his breath came out in short gasps.

Watching him, Moz felt a lump of worry start in his stomach. “It wasn’t that funny, Neal,” he said softly, patting him on the back.

The other man straightened up, still gasping for air. “The idea of Peter … he would so love a leash for me. He’d be under the illusion that it would stop me, but nothing can stop me. I just screw everything up, regardless. I’d just drag him along with me just like I drag everyone with me.” He turned pale, suddenly bolting for the bathroom.

Moz listened for a second to the retching coming from behind the closed door, silently debating his next course of action. A moment later, he began to tuck the hard liquor into out of the way cabinets.

 

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Neal rolled over in bed and bit back a moan as his head throbbed. The events of the previous night came back to him with a start and he carefully sat up, looking over at the couch. The sight of his friend curled up asleep made him want to lay back down and cry. Digging into his seriously depleted reserves, he stood up, gathered up his clothes and quietly made his way into the bathroom to start getting ready for work.

Moz glanced up from the morning news as the bathroom door opened and Neal emerged fully dressed. “I would say good morning, but I have a keener sense of observation and a kinder sense of humor.”

The other man flushed and glanced down. Sinking down in one of the sitting area chairs he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry about everything, Moz. I really appreciate you staying last night and …” His voice trailed off as he struggled to find the words. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a bastard lately, I’ll stop taking it out on you – you’ve done nothing but been great and it’s not fair.” Taking a deep breath, he flashed his well practiced smile, “I’ll do better, I promise.”

“Always here for you, man,” Moz said simply. He took a sip of coffee, adding, “Have you thought about telling the Suit what’s going on? I’m more than willing to stay here, but these last couple of weeks have been a bit of a slide on your road to recovery.”

He shook his head, standing up. “No, I’ll figure it out.” He smiled again, “I got to go – don’t want to be late for work.”

Settling back on the sofa, Moz glanced toward his bag and the private phone tucked into the front pocket, mulling over the events and his loyalties.

 

“How are you doing?” Peter asked, eyeing Neal. They had just finished up a meeting and Neal had been unusually quiet, leaning against the wall and rarely looking up from the file he was studying.

“Fine,” he said with a smile.

“You’re looking a bit green,” the agent commented.

Neal grimaced. “Moz wanted to try this new Ethiopian place and goat and me … not a good combination, I guess.”

“Uh huh,” Peter said and, glancing at the clock, picked up his jacket. “Come on, let’s go get some real food then.”

“You think I look ill and you want me to eat,” he protested. “I’m not hungry.”

Coming closer, leaning well into the younger man’s personal space, Peter lowered his voice. “I don’t really care if you’re hungry or not, Neal. You can have a bowl of soup.”

“Peter…”

He held up his hand, “Hush. Let’s go. Besides the fact is, I want to talk to you.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he protested.

The agent nodded. “That’s what I’m worried about, Neal.” His voice was firm, but he gave the other man’s shoulder a gentle pat as he passed him, leading the way out of the office.

Fifteen minutes later, Neal ordered a bowl of chicken noodle soup and after a glare from across the table, a grilled cheese and bacon sandwich. “Happy?” he asked, his voice taking on an edge. He heard it and swallowed, giving his friend a quick smile. “I’m sure the soup will be good.”

Waiting until the waitress was gone, Peter leaned in and studied the other man. “When we agreed that you could go back to June’s …”

Neal’s head jerked up from the straw wrapper he was fiddling with. His eyes narrowed. “Agreed? Could you have stopped me?”

“I’m thinking about our personal, private agreement, Neal,” Peter said firmly. Meeting the other man’s eyes, he watched them flash for a second before he finally nodded.

“So you mean in a hypothetical, friend, partner, us way, not the FBI and making me stay in that hell hole of a motel?”

He nodded. “Right.” Waiting for several beats to see if there were any other comments, he continued, “When we agreed you could go back to living at June’s alone, we agreed that you’d keep following the rules we set up.”

Neal nodded, glancing back at the straw wrapper and beginning to fold it.

“What were those rules, Neal?”

Flicking the mangled paper away, he sighed. “No long cold showers, no skipping meals, no roaming late at night by myself and no playing games with you by lying.”

Peter smiled. “Excellent.”

Despite himself, Neal shook his head and smiled back. “I do have a pretty good memory, you know.” He glanced back down at the table and began to shuffle the sweetener packets.

“And what did we agree on, even though it’s not an actual rule?”

Neal shrugged, not looking up.

“How about that you would still come over when you needed to? We weren’t going to make it a set schedule, but you’re always welcome and you said you knew that.” Peter paused, “I think you should come back with us, even if it’s just for a day or two. I think it’ll do you some good.”

The other man shook his head. “It’s OK.”

The other man smiled back for a moment before reaching out and tapping the back of Neal’s hand, causing him to look up. “I’m asking because I’m worried, Neal.”

“I’m fine,” he said automatically. “No long cold showers, no roaming and look,” he said, pulling back as the waitress brought his soup. “Lunch.” Picking up the spoon, he took a scoop, blowing on it for a second before sipping gingerly at the hot liquid. “Yum.”

“I think you’re lying,” Peter said matter of factly. “I don’t know if you’re actually playing games with me or if you actually believe it.” He studied the other man in front of him, before adding, “I tend to think the latter.”

Neal grinned, “The secret to a good, convincing con is believing it yourself first.”

“Fake it until you feel it.”

The other man shrugged, sipping at more of his soup. A second later, he tossed the spoon down with a sigh, pushing the bowl away slightly. “What do you want me to say, Peter?” His voice had a trace of anger, but more frustration than anything. “Would saying I’m not OK really change anything? What would it solve? Nothing – it would change and solve nothing.” His voice choked slightly, “Everything that happened would still have happened and there’s not a damn thing I can do about that. So whether I smile, get dressed and go to work every day or curl up into a ball, the world is still the same. I might as well be fine.” Folding his hands together, he bowed his head and rested it on his fists. Taking several breaths, he finally looked up and smiled. “I’m fine.”

Hating that smile more than anything in the world at that moment, Peter fought back the urge to yell. Instead his sipped at his tea and schooled his thoughts. Nodding toward the bowl, he said, “Eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” Neal said, staring at the other man.

He knew he shouldn’t push, knew that one wrong step and they could be in an all out war, but it was too important. “I didn’t ask if you were hungry or not, Neal. I’m telling you to eat.” Then taking the sting out of his words and making sure Neal got the personal connection, he added, “Fighting weight, remember?”

Neal looked like he was going to push back for a long moment, but instead, slowly picked up the spoon and began to eat.

Peter filled in the silence talking about a cold case that was just shuffled over from Organized Crime. He smiled to himself as the younger man reluctantly began to talk back, taking the edge off lunch as the tension disappeared.

“That was much better than goat,” Neal said, stepping out of the restaurant an hour later.

“You did good,” he said, gently bumping into him and was rewarded with an honest smile. “You’re looking less Kermit-like.”

Neal chuckled. “Does that mean you’re Miss Piggy?” And then the pun in the joke hit him and made him laugh louder, “Oh that’s fitting.”

Catching on a second later, Peter grinned, hitting him on the shoulder, “Smart ass.”

The younger man laughed again and grinned back, shaking his head.

Taking advantage of the easy air, Peter said, “So, how about coming over tomorrow night. It’s Friday, we’ll get pizza and watch a movie. El is gone so that means no lectures about what’s on the pizza. Pepperoni, sausage, meatballs and extra cheese.” He saw his friend make a face and laughed, “OK, on half of it. We’ll get what you want on the other half.”

Neal shook his head but didn’t say anything for a long moment. “I don’t want to bother you,” he said quietly.

“You’re not a bother, Neal,” Peter said firmly. Stopping them as the reached the Federal plaza, he put his hand on Neal’s arm. “You’re not a bother and you’re welcome at any time.” He waited until the younger man nodded. “I’m asking you to come over tomorrow night. No pressure, no stress, just me, the dog, pizza and a movie.” He watched emotions flash across the younger man’s face and he debated about what – if anything – to say. It was always a delicate balancing act between pushing but not pushing too much, being firm but not overbearing, being decisive and thinking he knew best without ignoring Neal’s own wishes. Before he could make up his mind, he saw the doors that had opened over lunch slam shut.

“I really appreciate it, Peter,” he said, “but I’ll take a rain check. It’s better this way.”

“Better for who?” he countered.

Neal smiled and shrugged. “We better get back and look at that new case.” Pulling back slightly from the other man’s light grip, he flashed a quick smile and hurried toward the building.

 

Closing the door behind him with a tired sigh, Neal was thankful his apartment was empty; Moz had disappeared to somewhere. The thought of keeping up the façade was enough to make him want to sit and cry. Instead, he forced himself to smile and carefully get undressed, sorting out the clothes to be hung up and those to be put into the hamper to be washed over the weekend. June’s staff had offered, but he preferred to do it himself – the idea of strangers pawing through his clothes brought back prison memories. Instead, he sat in the basement laundry room on Saturday mornings with the paper and breakfast or Sunday evenings with a book and took care of it himself. He was exhausted and even the idea of cooking was too much. Instead, he sorted mail, picked up the place a bit and then, when it was finally after eight, showered and slipped into bed.

He woke up gasping for breath as the flames disappeared and Kate’s screams died out an hour later.

 

Moz looked down at Neal, passed out on the lounge chair on the terrace two hours later and shook his head. He picked up a blanket that he had been using on the sofa and draped it over Neal, concern mounting as he didn’t even stir as the blanket covered him. Picking up his bag a moment later, he headed back downstairs.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked, answering the phone on the third ring.

The other man sighed. “You understand that I am doing this only out of concern for Neal, not out of any sort of loyalty to you. Correct?”

“I don’t care if you’re doing this because you want to make sure you stay on Santa’s Nice list, Moz,” Peter shot back. “We both care about him and only want what’s best. So tell me what’s going on - what’s wrong?”

“It would probably be best if we had this conversation in person, Suit. You never know who might be listening in – especially on your end.”

Peter stifled a sigh. “Of course. Are you at June’s now?”

 

Pulling up to the house 45 minutes later, Peter saw the other man standing in the shadows waiting for him. “Why can’t we go inside?” he asked as the other man opened the car door and slid inside.

Moz glanced at him and rolled his eyes. “Because I’m going to fill you in and then leave. You’re going to go upstairs on some made up excuse and find Neal. I will remain completely out of this and our conspiring together will still be a secret.”

“We’re not conspiring against Neal,” he protested and then sighed at the look the other man gave him. “Even though Neal might disagree.”

He nodded. “Neal is passed out drunk, again, outside on the terrace.” The words came out in a straight forward rush; no judgment – just a simple statement of facts.

Peter swore and eyed the other man. “This isn’t the first time, I take it. He was looking off for sure yesterday, but that’s the first time I noticed and I haven’t smelled alcohol on him.”

“This is at least the fourth time that I’ve witnessed,” Moz confirmed. He held up his hand as Peter started to ask a question. “The first couple of times, I handled it and I took steps to remove what I considered triggers … no, don’t even ask for more details. I feel bad enough about this as it is. The last time, before tonight was Wednesday. Now, he’s passed out again and I think that’s enough. He’s not eating, he’s not sleeping – I refuse to classify what he’s doing now as sleeping – and it needs to stop. The friendly support and distractions I’m giving aren’t enough, so I decided it was time to call you in.”

The other man looked out the window and thought. “This obviously isn’t working.” He glanced at the other man, mulling over how much to tell him. “Did Neal talk to you about staying with Elizabeth and me?”

Moz smiled. “Just that Mrs. Suit’s business is certainly not a front for a money laundering scheme.”

Peter smiled back and shook his head. “I could have told you that.”

“I believe him more than you.”

The agent laughed and glanced up at the house. “OK. I’m going to head up. Neal’s coming back to my place for the weekend and he and I are going to talk and set up some new schedule for him.”

The other man nodded. “Good. He was doing good before – this is just a bump in the road, a brief stumble in the path of life.”

Holding out his hand, Peter said, “Thank you.”

Moz looked at it for a half of a second before taking it. “You’re welcome, Suit. Take good care of our boy.”

 

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Neal glanced up from the table and glared at Peter.

“Drink,” he ordered, putting down a glass of water next to the untouched glass of juice. “Pick one and finish it.” He eyed his friend. “We’re done with the games, Neal. How I found you last night isn’t going to happen again.”

Picking up the juice glass, he said, “You wouldn’t have found me at all if you had minded your own business. It’s the weekend. I’m off the clock.”

“And I’m responsible for you 24/7 so what affects you is my business,” Peter said. Pulling out a chair, he sat down and nodded toward the glass. “Drink.” His voice was still firm, but more gentle. “You’ll feel better.” After half the juice was gone, he pushed a calendar and pen at Neal.

“What’s this?”

“This is going to be your calendar.”

Neal smiled. “It’s already my calendar.” He turned it over to the personalized mailing label from a local insurance company, “See? My name and mailing address and everything.”

The other man smiled. “OK, so it’s going to be our calendar. When you left my house, I told you that you were welcome back at any time.”

He glanced at the table and took a sip of juice. “I’m fine, Peter. Last night was just an off night. Seriously ….”

Peter held up his hand, “If you tell me one more time, Neal, that you’re ‘Fine’, I’m going to consider it playing games and lying to me and turn you over and spank you. I don’t have a paddle here, but I promise you, my hand will do just an excellent job.” He eyed the younger man for a second, “Is that clear?” He made a conscious effort to keep his voice level and firm with no trace of anger that might hint at abuse or scare the younger man. “I don’t believe for one second that last night was the first time, was it?”

Neal drained the juice glass and didn’t look up.

“Neal. Was last night the first night?” He held his breath as he waited for the younger man’s answer, waiting to see if the foundation of their personal relationship would hold strong under this test.

“No,” he said simply. He glanced up, waiting for Peter to say something or react.

Instead, he nodded. “OK then.” Turning back to the calendar, he continued as if nothing had happened. He felt Neal suddenly relax as if the simple word and simple acknowledgment that all wasn’t, in fact, fine had released some inner tension. Without saying anything, he moved his chair closer so they were sitting next to each other and laid a hand on Neal’s head, bringing it closer to him.

Neal relaxed more and laid his head on his crossed arms on the table, closing his eyes. Peter stroked his hair. “I’m sorry,” he said finally several minutes later, his voice rough. “I thought it was all fine.”

“It will be – it’s getting better every day. This is just a minor misstep, not a huge crashing fall.”

Neal laughed, opening his eyes as he straightened up. “What would you consider a huge crashing fall?”

"With you?” Peter asked, studying him. “A mysterious break in at the Met, Guggenheim or Whitney that leaves behind an excellent forgery in place of some well known artist.” He was rewarded with a grin from the younger man.

“I’d have proof I didn’t do it,” Neal supplied.

The other man laughed, bumping against his shoulder, “I’m sure you would.” Shaking his head, he nodded toward the calendar and pen. “So, since the concept of an open invite isn’t working, we’re going to come up with a set schedule to be at my house.”

“Peter, that’s really not …”

The older man looked at him. “Necessary? Are you going to tell me that it’s not necessary?” The disbelief was clear in his voice.

Neal flushed but remained silent.

“Let’s try it my way for awhile and see how it goes, Neal,” he said firmly. “This isn’t your choice right now. Just trust me.”

He nodded and sighed. “Not my choice,” he repeated softly.

Knowing that the words were a comfort and not an accusation, Peter nodded. “So I think every Sunday and Wednesday will work well.”

“Twice a week?”

Peter smiled, “I always knew you were good at math.” He nodded toward the calendar. “Start writing, I want it penciled in on every Sunday and every Wednesday so there are no claims of forgetting or having other plans.”

“What happens if I don’t show up?” Neal asked, pen hovering over the calendar.

“Then I come and fetch you, bring you back to the house and paddle you. I promise, you won’t sitting easily for the car ride to Brooklyn either,” Peter said matter of factly.

He flushed at the words but didn’t comment. “What time am I supposed to be over on Sunday? I’m assuming you’re not picking me up?”

Peter shook his head. “No, I trust you to come on your own. Let’s just say middle of the afternoon – whenever you want, but before dinner, since you’re eating with us. Wednesday, of course, you’ll come home with me straight from work and then I’ll bring you to work Monday and Thursdays.” He nodded toward the calendar.

With a quick sigh, Neal started jotting down P&E’s on every Sunday and Wednesday, flipping the pages until he reached the end.

“Good job,” he said, patting his back. “Now, go pack a bag, you’re coming with me this weekend. Don’t forget clothes for work on Monday.”

Neal jerked his head up. “Why? It’s not Sunday, it’s only Saturday.”

The other man eyed him and then said gently, “Because after last night’s performance, I think it would be best to keep a closer eye on you for right now.” He squeezed Neal’s shoulder. “Get a couple good nights' sleep, some food and I bet things will look better on Monday.”

 

OooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooO

 

The next Sunday, Neal felt like a fool packing his bag. Glancing at the phone, he resisted the urge to call Peter again to check. They had spoken around 10 am when Neal called with what even he had to admit was a lame excuse about an idea for a cold case. It was certainly something that could have waited until later, but he had called anyway. Before they hung up, Peter mentioned lasagna for dinner that night and asked if Neal could bring dessert. He didn’t ask if the younger man was coming over and didn’t remind him; he simply assumed. Carrying a small bag down the stairs, he hailed a cab and after a quick stop at the bakery, headed over the bridge.

Now, standing on the sidewalk, he forced himself to take several deep breaths. They weren’t going to laugh, they weren’t going to be surprised, it was going to be like last Sunday – hanging out, helping around the house if he could, dinner and an early night. He felt like he had slept more last weekend than he had since starting work again and it had certainly impacted his mood the past week. Wednesday, he had tried to be casual, not mentioning anything until Peter asked where his bag was at lunch. He raised an eyebrow when Neal shrugged and said they would pick it up. Following the younger man into his apartment, Peter had delivered three hard swats across the butt and told him firmly not to forget again.

The front door opened and Elizabeth glanced out and smiled. “Are those chocolate chip cupcakes?”

He smiled back, walking toward the door, trying to pretend he hadn’t been standing there for the last five minutes. “Three of them are, the other three are red velvet.”

She kissed him lightly on the cheek as he stepped inside and took the box. “Good job,” she said.

He grinned back, not sure and not caring if she was talking about the cupcakes or coming over.

 

The End


End file.
